Snowflakes
by polotiz
Summary: The Anatomy of Snow and Fear


**Snowflakes**

**Disclaimer: **I had a dream last night, I did own them! and oh the sweet, sweet stories we made... but then I woke up. And I knew the truth - TNT own them, Tess Gerritsen owns them - yes yes I know... just let a girl dream, okay?!

**Rating:** K+

**Category:** Angst/Hurt/Comfort

**Pairing: **Rizzles

**Summary: **The anatomy of snow and fear

**Author's Note: **I can't precisely pinpoint where the inspiration for this one came from - it was submitted for a Christmas/Winter fanfic challenge but materialised straight off the heels of 'Falling', so I also think it was my Angsty muse's way of throwing his weight around :)

Anyway, hope you enjoy. Anyone who has already read it, if you're so inclined to do so again I've played a little, added a few extra details that were only in my mind but not on the page...so... it doesn't change the story just - this one is the digitally enhanced version :)

T

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"Tell me about them, Maur-" The voice is hushed, a faint whisper against the wind, as fleeting as the icy drops beckoned from the sky. They dance their dance over the breeze, falling softly to the ground… as softly as the words from the lips that utter the words again. "Tell me about them."

Fire is falling in company, steaming and salty down your cheeks. It slips down, burning through the faint pattern in the snow beneath that could have been roughed into the shape of an angel so easily, filled with life and warmth and love and mirth… but there is no such pattern; it is only dyed warm and crimson and helpless. You know there can be no angels here. And more than ever now you hate heaven. You hate the idea of it as much as your sense of belief riles against it.

"Not yet." You say, as if the words were actions and could stop the snow from falling; as if they could stop the crimson blanket slowly expanding outward from her body. Your fingers press more firmly against its source, aching with exertion and time… too much time… and you add the promise of empty encouragement that is bitter against your own tongue. "I will tell you as soon as they get here."

You're one plea away from answering her, you know it, just like you always are and have always been; one plea away from the extra beer, the booth near the television when the game is on… that second bowl of fries… and you know if she asks you for _this _again you'll tell her… but for now you hold onto the knowledge like it is the only thing that keeps the two of you bound together – as if withholding the information would withhold the life force currently leeching out of her. Keep her safe. Keep her whole.

Fingers press down on your forearm, and you realise it's her attempt to squeeze, but with nothing to drive the force.

"They're not coming… you know that.."

Her breaths are shallow, and your medical training knows there is not enough room in her lungs for the air, because they are bleeding. Like the rest of her is bleeding. But your heart ignores it, shoves the knowledge violently into a corner of your mind and you push harder, you squeeze your eyes shut against those tears, and you purse your lips, refusing to acknowledge it.

Refusing to give in.

"Maur.."

You open your eyes again and they cloud again instantly at the trail of crimson now spilling from her lips, and you can't supress the angry sob that tears at your throat… because against the snow she wasn't so pale, but against _this… _

"Tell me…" And her breath is so thin now you barely hear it, but it is there, that plea… that final plea you know will break you.

"Snowflakes…" You begin, your tongue heavy, and thick in your mouth. "-begin as snow crystals which develop when microscopic supercooled cloud droplets freeze." Your voice catches and you steady it against a breath, instantly feeling guilty for the air you are able to convert into oxygen.

Wishing you could connect your lungs to hers. Your life to hers.

And you hate the air_._

But you know she is watching you, mesmerised, so you continue. "Nobody completely understands what creates each intricate pattern but most believe it is dependent on the humidity and altitude of the formation." She blinks, slowly, and for a moment your heart leaps into your throat, but surely enough, those beautiful chocolate eyes open again, fixing loosely on you…. As well as they can. "S-so the ice crystals continue forming until the mass they accumulate exceeds that of the air density and they fall." You bite down on your lip, "And we get snow. We get snowflakes. And no two snowflakes are the same." You brush her hair back gently with your free hand, leaving a smudge of red against her temple. "Just like people." You whisper.

"Like people…falling." She echoes softly, looking toward the sky. "Like angels… " A rattling breath shudders through her body, and she turns her head to you, worry creasing her brow. "Do you think I will be an angel, Maur?"

A strangled cry escapes your lips. You can't stop it, you can't curb it. Your heart is breaking. Your heart is _breaking_… tearing you to pieces with the ferocity of a category five hurricane. The same ferocity with which you want to claw the snow from the heavens, force it back in on itself until it explodes.

You want to scream.

But all you can do is cradle her head against your body and press your lips to her cold, waning skin, forcing every ounce of conviction you have left in your sorry soul into your next words.

"You will be the best one, Jane… the _best_ one. The fiercest , most loyal, protective one God has ever seen…"

Even though you never believed in God. Never believed in angels… But you do now. You will for her. And when you pull back she is smiling at you, and if anything of your heart had been left, it would have splintered then, too.

"Don't you worry, Maur.." she whispers, barely loudly enough for you to hear over the breeze whipping up the leaves above you. And for a moment, her smile is bright, and her eyes are clear, and she squeezes your arm with the strength you had always known. "I'll be your angel…"

And through the torrent of tears streaming down your face, with the last remaining ounce of strength you have, you smile back at her.

"I know you will." Is all you can say.

And her eyes slide closed, and her hand slips from your forearm, but her smile… the smile lingers well beyond the moment you feel the pulsing heat under your hand still into silence.

Nothing but silence.

Silence and snowflakes and angels, falling softly to the ground.

"Jane! Oh God No…" You are crying, sobbing in earnest now, your stomach burns and your chest heaves and there aren't enough tears in the world to satisfy the ache in your heart. "Oh God! Jane!"

_"__Maura-"_

The word ricochets off you at first, unheard and unfelt. But there, again, in the background, in the whisper of the wind you hear it.

Just like she promised.

_"__Maura.."_

And her name tumbles from your lips, a prayer – a plea.

And daylight becomes night, and the frigid air warms, and outside becomes inside. And blankets of snow become simply - blankets...Sheets...Tangled around your body and her body and-

And someone is gripping your shoulders.

"Maura-"

Your wild eyes focus, narrowing in on the face before you, and before recognition can register the image of a pale, lifeless version of the same invades your consciousness, blood pooling in the corner of her mouth, tilted upwards, smiling.

Smiling at you.

Blanketed by white… sheets of snow. Sheets.. just… white sheets.

Your heart clenches fiercely.

"No…!" You push her backward, not away from you but away from the white – away from the memory and into the present – and she knows… she knows and she moves and she stands, strong and upright and _alive_, her hand reaching toward you.

"Maur it's okay." She says, and the voice is strong and sure. "I'm okay."

I'm okay.

_She's okay._

But you don't believe it. You need to see it. You slide off the bed, pulling at the sheets, ripping them away, pulling until there is nothing left but the mattress and underlay and everything, all of it is pooled on the floor of your bedroom.

There is no blood.

Nothing.

She watches you patiently, without a word, just holding out her hand until you're willing to accept it exists, willing to take it, willing to hold it trusting it will be warm, not cold and clammy and fading.

"…Jane?" You hear the shaky version of her name in your ears, tangled up in fear and confusion and loss and hope… unable to believe it is your own voice.

But still, you reach.

And she's waiting, patiently. She pulls you gently toward her, allowing you to brace your hands against her chest, because she knows you want to feel her heart beating, to prove that _this_ is real, and nothing else.

And you know, you both have done this before. Almost every week, since that day.

_That _day.

Those steps.

"Jane.." It falls again desperately from your lips.

She gently takes your hand – the left one – the one that isn't pressed against her heart. Entwining your fingers she guides you downward, slowly, over the material of her tank top to the hem.

"It's okay."

Her cheek slides softly against yours as she whispers against your ear, and you almost don't notice her top has been pulled upward and away from her body, and your hand is now pressed flat under her fingers, against her own skin.

Pints of blood ghost through your fingertips. Your body shudders at the memory.

You flinch.

"Shhh-" her fingers entwine with yours once more, holding you in place, her cheek pressing in a little tighter - repeating the mantra you so desperately want to believe.

"It's okay..."

Followed by a truth you only dare to hope..

"I'm here."

And finally you feel it – the texture of a long-healed scar under your fingertips, and your medical training shouts triumphantly from the corner you had banished it to, that this means she _is_ okay. She _is_ here. She is whole.

She is –

You gasp, suddenly overcome with the need to be close to her.

But she already knows… and her arms wrap around your shoulders and she is pulling you closer. Her cheek still rests against yours, because she knows you are soothed by the sound of her breathing, of her breaths, warm and real and even and strong…. And you realise you are swaying, gently, with her, like trees in a light winter breeze. And over her shoulder and through the window you watch the snowflakes bounce lightly against the glass before tumbling past it into the courtyard below, as you trail your fingers across her stomach slowly, reverently, awakening your body and your mind and your heart… thinking to yourself each inch of her skin so perfect, so unique it could very well be made from those snowflakes …

"Maura…" And it strikes you that this time the plea isn't for your explanation of a natural phenomenon, or the extra bowl of fries or even one more beer.

It is for _you. _

And it is pure adrenaline, jabbing into your heart with a needle sharp enough to reignite life. And it does.

You lean hesitantly up towards her, until hesitation itself falls away like the light covering of the first snow. Gone is the moment that flashes behind your eyes every other night, daring you to relive the fear and the dread and agony of her bleeding out in front of you. Gone is the feeling of her blood, thick and warm under your hand. But most importantly, gone is the fear of the two of you…losing.

That you would break her, you would break each other, if you did this…

"Maur.." She says your name again.

And in answer your lips are on her neck, a kiss to her skin for every flake that falls. There could have been be dozens, even hundreds, were it not for the press of her body against yours and insistent fingers crawling through your hair, pulling you up onto your tip-toes, falling towards her.

She presses her lips to yours, and in that same instant you know you could be caught in a blizzard now and it wouldn't change a thing. Her tongue, soft and warm and full of _life _is demanding, and you acquiesce without second thought, allowing her in, to feel and tease and love and explore.

It is almost enough to render you undone.

And when she moans lowly the sound reverberates through your own skull and you think you just might-

You pull back, eyes searching, questioning, needing reassurance. And you look out the window and see the snow is still falling… It is falling but you are warm and she is warm and you are both alive and unbroken.

You turn to her, and your hand reaches up slowly, resting loosely against her cheek.

"Will you be my angel, Jane?" You ask her.

And she looks at you, momentarily confused, before smiling the brightest smile, one that would erase all the demons, the contorted images you battled with each and every week. Since that day.

She leans forward, and kisses the tip of your nose. You imagine it burning re d like it might if you were in the snow.

"I'll be the best, the fiercest, most loyal, most protective angel God has ever seen.." She murmurs against your lips.

And your breath hitches

And you smile, silently against her.

And for just a moment…

You wonder.


End file.
